


Too Strong For This

by smallbeans



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Blood and Gore, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Thomas, M/M, The Scorch Trials - Freeform, The Scorch Trials Spoilers, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:35:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: What if at the end of The Scorch Trials (Movie), Janson had shot Thomas?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in fifteen minutes during my break at college because me and my friend were discussing the differences between The Scorch Trials book and the movie and she said how she thought Thomas getting shot in the book was actually a vital part and at the end of the movie, when Janson walked out of the fog and put Thomas down, she thought he was going to get shot then. So, I wrote this!
> 
> Enjoy! ♡

Newt's ears are ringing from the explosion. He dares to open his eyes, coughing at the upturned dirt floating in the air from where he landed hard on his side. He's aching from earlier when he was electrocuted with those guns, but he quickly pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the punches of pain that shoots through his every muscle.

Everything is in chaos. There's gunfire everywhere, guards running around, dressed in black like shadows.

Newt sees Thomas through the dim light, still lying on the ground when suddenly, a figure approaches him through the fog. Newt barely has time to realise it's Janson before Thomas is being kicked in the face, sprawling back on the ground.

"Thomas!" He shouts, but his voice goes unheard in the noise of gunfire and screams.

His eyes are tied on Thomas, the younger male being held down by Janson, when a hand wraps around Newt's arm.

He swings his other fist, preparing to fight them, when Minho's face comes into view.

"Shuck," Minho breaths, eyes flicking from his balled fist to his face. "Come on, we gotta go—"

"No! What about Thomas!" Newt yells, looking back over his shoulder.

Two gun shots ring through the air, and Janson drops like a stone onto his back.

Newt can barely register Minho's voice in his ear, the chaos maddening around him, because Thomas  _isn't getting up_.

"Thomas!" He screams again, voice cracking. He’s scrambling to his feet, running in shaky legs towards the boy on the ground. He's oblivious to everything else happening around him.

Thomas is still on the ground when he crashes to his knees beside him.

Even in the flash of the moment, Newt can see the drastic change in Thomas' appearance. His eyes are wide, so so wide, filled with fear and pain. His hand is pressed tightly against his shoulder, red staining his fingers like he'd dipped his hand in a bowl of raspberry syrup.

"Oh god," Newt chokes, his hands hovering above his pain riddled friend for a moment, unable to do anything, because Thomas has been shot.

Thomas has been _shot_.

"N-N-N-. . . N-newt-t," Thomas coughs, stammering. His complexion is daunting, face loosing colour and eyes dropping.

"You're okay. You're okay, Tommy," Newt's says, but his words sound hollow even in his own ears. He looks up when someone else collapses on Thomas' other side. Surprised, he sees Vince.

The older man is looking down in what can only be classed as fear and concern. Without a moment to lose, Vince is clamping his hands down over Thomas' bloody one. The boy below them cries ou, screaming, his voice raw and cracking. He struggles, shaking against them, but his body is already weak and eventually falls limp in the dirt. His chest is rising quick and shot, breaths coming out in pants, eyes are squeezed shut in pain. Newt can only imagine the fire burning through his shoulder right now.

"We've gotta get him out of here," Vince says, catching Newts attention.

Newt barely manages a nod numbly before Vince is scooping Thomas up off the floor. Newt doesn't miss Thomas' startled cry from the position change, but he doesn't have time to react before Vince is sprinting across the dirt, and Newt is following after him.

The fight is still happening. Newt hadn't realised while he'd been crouched beside Thomas, in their own bubble of misery, but the chaos still reigns around them.

Newt is moving so fast his feet are barely touching the ground. Vince is ahead of him, Thomas cradled in his arms, juggling with the force of Vince's runs. Guns shots ring and whiz around them, explosions and fire burning the already scorched land. Bodies are dropping, cries ringing, but Newt can't care less because Thomas, his Thomas, could be dying tonight.

Vince doesn't stop running until their hidden behind a large rock. Minho and Frypan are already there, Teresa crouched behind them. Their eyes immediately widen at the sight of a bloody Thomas being slowly placed on the dirt.

"Oh shuck," Minho curses. "What—"

"Janson," Newt says, voice gravely and dripping with venom.

He crouches beside Vince, taking Thomas' cold hand in his own. The younger boy turns his head, lolling slightly as if its too heavy for Thomas to hold. Even in the orange glowing light, his skin is a haunting white, almost translucent. His eyes are half-lidded and sunken, bruised with purple half moons that contrast horribly against his colourless skin. He looks like a ghost already.

"Newt. . ." His word is barely audible, fragile and quiet, but it's _there_ , and that's all Newt can wish for.

"I'm here," he replies. He inches closer, eyes instantly drawn to the growing red patch that soaked the boys jacket and shirt. He looks like someone had thrown a bucket of wine over him, drenching him in red liquid.

"I need to go and get some medical supplies," Vince says. He looks to Newt, "I'll be back in no time. Keep pressure on it and  _don't_  let him pass out."

Newt is nodding vigorously, head bobbing like a bobble-head that's been strung. Vince is gone in a dash, and the gladers move closer.

"Trust you to get shot, shank," Minho says with a light chuckle. The humour doesn't help Newt, but they all see the small quirks of Thomas' lips, a weak attempt of a smile forming on his face.

"Minho," Newt begins, his voice sounds hoarse and ruined. Tears spur in his eyes. "Can you. . ."

He can't say the words, but Minho seems to get the message as he instantly presses his hands down on Thomas' shoulder, his own skin quickly becoming coloured with a violent red. Thomas whimpers under him, breaths coming short again. His eyes are clamped shut, teeth gritted and grinding together. The hand holding Newt's tightens, squeezing for a moment before falling slack.

"Sorry," Minho quickly apologises, but his hands don't let up.

Thomas blinks his eyes open, and Newt's heart drops at his glazed over they are. He blinks rapidly.

"Tommy," Newt says urgently when the boys eyes droop heavily, eye lids made of lead. "You need to stay awake. Tommy!"

Thomas seems to jerk awake, his whole body stiffening. They blink open lethargically, slowly moving so they meet Newt's, who is towering over him, hands clutching his own.

"M'sorry," he mumbles, the words tumbling from his lips that seem too heavy to move.

"What?" Newt frowns. He looks up at Minho, as if to see if he heard Thomas right, but they all look confused as well.

Before any of them can ask, Vince, Jorge and Brenda are running around the corner.

"Move," Vince demands gruffly. The gladers scurry back in time for Vince to drop beside Thomas, laying out a medical kit in front of him.

"Oh God," Brenda curses. "Shit, shit shit shit!"

Minho looks at her in annoyance and confusion. "Brenda, what—?"

"It's my fault," she gasps. Jorge steps up behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder but she jerks away from it as if she's been burned. She frantically runs her hands through her short hair. "I-I- he was— I couldn't—" she broke off with a sob. She stumbles towards them on shaking legs, practically collapsing at Thomas' feet.

Jorge crouched beside her, and Newt could see him subtly looking her over for injury.

"Brenda," Thomas croaks suddenly. Brenda's head snaps up just as Newt's does.

Thomas is looking worse for wear, but for a moment, his grip tightens on Newt's hand, sending a bolt of relief though the blonde boys veins.

"Its n-n-not your. . . f-fault," Thomas speaks slowly, with little lucidity. His brown eyes are huge and unfocused, yet they shine through with such a fierce determinant that makes Newt wonder if this kid is even human.

"He's right," Vince says. The older man has laid out a arrange of bandages and other medical instruments. "You saved him, Brenda. If you hadn't shot Janson, Thomas would have a bullet in his forehead instead of his shoulder."

"But. . .but—"

"No 'but's," Vince cuts her off roughly. He looks at her in the eye, face straight and serious. "This isn't your fault."

Brenda is momentarily still, but eventually gives a weak nod.

"Good," Vince says. He then looks to Jorge. "I'm going to need your help."

"What do you need?" Jorge replies.

"The bullets gone straight through, so I need to stop the bleeding from both sides. Can you hold the cloth on his front? I'm going to try and close the hole in his back," Vince says, and Jorge moves immediately.

"You guys need to get out of here," Vince adds. "If those guards get through, they'll come here and we can't stop them. Grab a gun and shot over the top of this rock."

Newt can barely take his hand out of Thomas' and when he does, he almost sobs at how Thomas' hand falls on the ground, fingers curled limply and lax.

His eyes are closed when Newt turns his back.

 

_— tbc._


	2. Chapter 2

****Newt doesn't know how they do it, but eventually, the guards and WCKD fall back, the lip of their Berg closing before it rises off the ground. It disappears into the night sky with a roar of the engine, and then everything is silent.

Newt stares for a moment. He looks at the burning huts, the bodies on the ground, the destruction they have caused, and then everything comes rushing back.

 _Thomas_.

He drops the gun without hesitation. He hears it clatter on the ground, but he doesn't care. He's spinning around so fast his limp almost gives out, heart racing and bloody rushing to his ears.

Thomas is laying on his back, Jorge by his head, Vince working on his shoulder.

Newt stumbles towards them on weak legs, dropping down. His breath hitches in his throat.

Thomas looks dead. There's no colour to his skin apart from the hideous purple that frames his closed eyes. Even his lips are white, cracked and closed. His hair is slick and shiny with sweat, head lolling.

"Tommy," Newt cries, and he doesn't realise he's crying until he feels the tear drop run off his cheek.

Thomas doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't respond, he doesn't even move.

"He's all right, Hermano," Jorge says, and Newt can't take his eyes off Thomas' face to meet the man beside him.

"He. . . He. . ."

Minho is beside him suddenly, dropping down to their level. He still has a gun in his hand, but his other comes to rest of Thomas' leg. "Is he okay?"

"Mary was the medic, not me," Vince replies, not looking up from Thomas' shoulder. Newt can see the jerking stitching in the skin, jagged and messy. Vince is wiping away the blood, pulling a fresh bandage out. "I'm doing the best I can," he adds, "but. . ."

"It's better than nothing," Minho says, but his voice lacks the confidence it normally does.

Newt strokes his hand through Thomas’ dark hair, the strands soft and damp between his fingers. He wants nothing more than for Thomas just to open his big, brown eyes, to reveal those huge whiskey orbs and make Newt’s chest stop tightening.

He just wants Thomas to be _okay_.

It’s then, like a punch to his stomach, that Newt realises that Thomas’ chest isn’t moving. That Thomas isn’t _breathing_.

"He’s not breathing," Newt cries, hands cupping the younger boys cheeks. He feels hysterical, mumbling for Thomas to wake up when a hand clamps on his shoulder.

He tries to throw Minho off as the boy drags him back, drags him _away from Thomas,_ but the ex-runner doesn’t let up, dragging him through the dirt and sand. He shrieks, fights back, but nothing works. Minho drags him on his ass, hands on his arms, his feet digging into the dirt in futile attempt.

He watches helplessly, when Minho stops dragging him back and crouches at his side, arms around his middle to keep him there, as Jorge and Vince crowd Thomas. Newt has a clear view of the younger boy, of his unmoving chest.

Jorge starts compressions, pumping Thomas’ chest like a ball.

"Tommy," Newt cries, and he feels Minho’s arms tighten round him when he slumps bonelessly into the ex-runner. Thomas can’t die. He can’t _leave_ Newt, not after everything they’ve been through. Thomas is the strongest of them, the one who has always kept them going. He’s the one who took the lead when no one else could, the one who got them out after three years of running around blind. Thomas saved them, but Newt can’t save him now.

"Come on, Thomas," he hears Minho mutter into his ear. "Come on, you shank."

Newt wants to laugh at the use of the glader-slang, but he can’t bring himself to even feel warmed by it. Not when Thomas is so _still_.

Jorge is pounding on his chest, pushing up and down and up and down. Newt can see his lips moving, his eyebrows furrowed and face tight. _He’s losing hope_ , Newt realises. _He’s going to give up_.

Just when Newt is ready to believe it, to tell himself that it’s okay, Thomas’ body is jerking up and he’s taking a huge, shaky gasp.

Minho lets go of him immediately. Newt scrambles through the dirt on his hands and knees.

Jorge’s head is hanging, "Thank God," the older man says, and lifts his head, face split with relief, "Thank God."

Newt cries. He cries so hard he’s choking on his sobs and big, fat tears are rolling down his cheeks. He clutches Thomas’ cold hand in his own, watching the rise and fall of Thomas’ chest. Vince has his fingers tangled in Thomas’ hair, gently stroking the short strands at the side. Newt wants to think about the fatherly action, but all he can think about is that Thomas is _alive_.

 

The camp is ruined. Everything valuable is burnt to ash. WKCD managed to take a few teenagers, and Newt feels like he should care more than he does, but truthfully, he can’t care about anything other than Thomas.

The teenager lays in a single tent they stripped up with some of the surviving fabric from the fires. Dawn is approaching, the light glowing through the pale brown fabric, illuminating the space inside and the prone figure on the 'bed', which is actually a thick layer of stacked blankets and dirt.

Newt’s heart cracks in his chest. Thomas looks _so small_ , and it pains Newt because Thomas has _never_ looked so small, and fragile, and hurt before. Thomas has always been the rock they lean on, the leader they look to. He's always been strong and motivated, so desperate to save anyone and everyone. 

Newt doesn’t realised he’s moved until he’s suddenly at the teens side, hand clasping his colder one. He squeezes so hard, waiting for the confirming squeeze back, but it never comes.

Thomas is on his back, a blanket pulled up his chin that hides all the horror underneath. He’s as pale as paper, lips cracked and white. Newt’s hand slides down his wrist, feeling the promising pulse. Its the only thing that assures him that Thomas is still there.

"You’re too strong for this," Newt whispers. "You’re too strong to go out like this."

He’s not expecting Thomas to reply, but the silence still hurts.

Hot tears burn his eyes. He doesn’t try to stop them from overflowing and rolling down his dirty cheeks.

"You need to come back to me, Tommy," he chokes. "You can’t leave us. You can’t leave _me_."

Thomas’ only response is the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

 _It’s better than nothing_ , Newt decides.

 

Newt doesn’t move from his side for the following 24 hours. No one tries to drag him out of the tent, no one even attempts it - not even Minho. They bring him food, and he only eats it because he knows Thomas will be mad if he wakes up to find Newt isn’t taking care of himself.

Thomas’ eyes open a few times, but they're so glazed over and they slip shut before Newt can get a word out. He cries and dozes at the side of the makeshift bed, hands gripping Thomas’ cold, lax ones like a lifeline.

When Thomas does wake up, Newt doesn’t even notice. He’s been staring at his rising and falling chest for so long, counting the breaths, that he doesn’t even notice the flutter of the younger boys eyes or the slight turn of his head.

He notices it a long moment after he stares into the eyes looking back at him.

 _Thomas’_ eyes.

He jumps up with a start, gasping. "Thomas! Tommy— oh shuck, Thomas—"

Thomas’ eyes are screwed shut, his face twisted, "Volume, Newt, please."

"Shit. _Shit._ I’m sorry—" he cuts himself off, breathless as he sits on the bed beside Thomas’ torso, looking down at the pale, drowsy teen. He takes a moment to take him in, to process it. "Tommy," he whispers, worried if he speaks any louder, he’ll shatter like struck glass. "You. . . you almost. . ."

Thomas smiles softly, squeezing Newt’s hand in his.

"Is everyone okay?"

If he wasn't injured, Newt would have punched him.

" _Jesus_ , Tommy," Newt almost shouts, rubbing his eyes. "You got _shot_. Shucking _shot!_ And the first thing you ask is if everyone _else_ is okay?!"

"Newt," both Thomas’ hands are holding his, holding tight. The injured teen is moving on the bed, trying to sit up with pained, jerky movement. Newt moves to push him down, but Thomas is already leaning up on his elbows, their eyes level. All the fatigue and drowsiness is wiped from his face, his eyes clear and sparking like crystals.  "Newt, please. I’m fine—"

"You got _shot_ , Thomas! You’re not fine! I watched you. . . you d-died and I watched and—"

Thomas winces at the level of his shout, and Newt would feel guilty if he didn’t feel so scared. He’s just _so scared_.

"I’m sorry," Thomas whispers.

Newt’s mouth drops open. He’s crying again, but he doesn’t attempt to wipe away the tears. "Oh, Tommy—" he breaks off, moving so he can pull the younger teen into a hug. He grasps Thomas body tight, almost forgetting the bullet wound in his shoulder. "Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. You. . . you shouldn’t apologise for getting hurt."

"I scared you," Thomas murmurs into his shoulder. He’s slid in Newt’s grip, and Newt doesn’t doubt that he’s too tired to hold himself up any longer. "I’m sorry for that."

His tears dampen Thomas’ shoulder. He doesn't know how long he cries for.

"You should lay down," Newt says, pulling away. "You should be resting. You’re still—"

"Newt," his name is spoken so softly, he’s startled into stopping. His eyes meet Thomas’, and it’s then he’s reminded how much he missed the familiar sight of those whiskey brown eyes. Thomas was only out for just more than a day, but Newt feels like he’s been gone forever.

"Yes, Tommy?"

"How many?"

Newt knows exactly what he’s asking.

"We lost a few. Minho and Vince are still finding out who now," he replies. "Don’t worry, all of us are fine."

They sit in silence, just watching each other. Newt can’t take his eyes off Thomas, off his open eyes and rising chest.

"I almost lost you," Newt murmurs, unable to stop himself. He feels raw, bruised inside and out. He reaches forward, running his hands through the brown locks resting on his forehead.

Thomas reaches out, his hand shaking, and clasps Newt's.

"I will never leave you, Newt," Thomas says softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

"You almost did."

"Well, never again," Thomas assures, flashing him a tired but warm smile. "I’ll never leave you again."

Newt squeezes his hand assuringly. "Good that."

 

_— fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't how i wanted this chapter to go, but i'm all wiped out from writing essays and running on three hours sleep, so this is as good as you'rre gonna get! i hope you enjoyed, and if you didn't, i am very sorry!

**Author's Note:**

>  **update:** as i'm writing the second chapter to this i went back and made a few changes to the this first chapter. nothing major, just a few touches :)


End file.
